


Feeling Good is Looking Good

by chase_acow



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, Tony Is a Good Bro, Wing Grooming, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-27 01:48:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21110693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chase_acow/pseuds/chase_acow
Summary: When he was the Winter Soldier his wings had been bound and clipped.





	Feeling Good is Looking Good

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Corrosion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corrosion/gifts).

When he was the Winter Soldier his wings had been bound and clipped. He hadn't needed them for most of his missions, and if it had come to close combat fighting, his metal arm and abundance of weaponry had generally evened the scales again. There was no gliding, no reacting, and certainly no presenting. His brain had been so scrambled, he hadn't remembered what he was missing or what it felt like not to be in that constant pain.

Now that he was Bucky Barnes again, he remembered. He remembered himself before the the war and how he'd flick his wings in a joke or irritation, puff the feathers for pride or embarrassment, or casually stretch them in display to see if anyone looked. He remembered, but he couldn't. Something deep in his chest kept his wings still, kept them plastered to his back even as everyone else used their wings for common everyday conversations and convenience. He still couldn't fit in.

Therapy had helped a little, but he was afraid he'd give the wrong signals and people would like him even less. He was afraid that after so long nobody would notice he was trying. Most damning of all, he was afraid of his vanity. It'd been seventy years since anyone had touched his wings with affection, to touch up the paint, or just in friendship. His wings plain gray now, were ugly, tattered, tangled things now. No one would want to touch them.

Bucky flopped face down on his bed, bouncing slightly and stretching out his arms to push against the raised edges. Normally they were used as wing rests, but he'd already been through his exercises for the day and his muscles were much more comfortable still with his wings drawn in. He snorted, the entire first semester of wing etiquette was for fledges to practice keeping their wings in when necessary, now he had to practice making them move.

"Hey, Buck, you done with your torture session?"

Startled, Bucky jerked up, curling his bare feet under him to fight or run, and relaxed only when he finally tracked Steve up in the loft with his painting supplies. He must have been deep into his own head not to notice the room was already occupied. Crawling over the side of the bed, he answered, "Yeah, she ran out of ideas and made me look in a mirror for a while."

He hated looking in the mirror. The jagged cuts of his flight feathers were visible from any angle. And the angry gouges from how Hydra bound his wings had nearly deformed the underlying structure of his wing body. It would take at least two good molts for the feathers to grow back, before he could even attempt to glide with them. It felt like forever.

And it felt useless.

"Well, I certainly like looking at your ugly mug, here and safe with us," Steve said after an uncomfortable silence. He put up whatever he was doing and flared his golden wings to drop down to the main level of their suite. "Some of the others wanted to watch a movie tonight. Come with me."

Bucky hesitated, going through his internal checklist to see if he had the energy to deal with a group tonight. Though to be fair, it wasn't just the group he was worried about, but also the Sam effect.

"Sam's gone for the week if that's what you're worried about. One day you're going to have to explain to me what happened," Steve said with a rueful smile. He didn't take it personally that his best friend and his other best friend couldn't really deal with each other. "I thought you two were getting along."

That wasn't the problem at all, more like the opposite. Every instinct Bucky still possessed wanted to aim and launch at Sam anytime they were in the same room. It was the only time he had to clamp down on his wings because if he presented as they were now, he would die of mortification. All he wanted was the chance to preen Sam's beautiful spotted feathers.

It was a nice dream. Sam deserved someone better put together than Bucky.

#

"Barnes, come with me," Stark said the next afternoon, turning and leading this way with his red painted wings slightly unfurled without looking to see if Bucky was following. 

He did, but only because it was so unusual. Stark didn't usually acknowledge Bucky's presence beyond letting him live in the Tower. Bucky didn't blame him, he figured they'd work it out eventually, that's what a flock did. In deference to Bucky's injuries, Stark led them to the elevator which took them down to Stark's personal lab. It was the first time Bucky had been allowed inside.

"You've got more crazy than a bag of cats, and that is one of the very few things I am unqualified to fix," Stark said, pulling up holographic schematics from thin air. The work benches were tall enough he wouldn't accidentally knock things off, and high stools were scattered around. Anything likely to spark was quarantined with the 'bots to keep from singeing feathers. "Your wings, on the other hand, are something I can work on."

The next three days Bucky would sneak from his room to Stark's lab where he'd be measured, poked, and forced to spread his mangled wingspan. He flinched every time, but Stark was never cruel, never hurt him without need, and helped him understand the process. The weight and the difference in flexibility would take some adjustment, but Stark assured him with practice he'd be able to glide much sooner than if he'd waited through his molts. The metal feathers were beautiful in a way his arm never could be, at least to him. Stark's fabrication unit stamped and molded, created the most lifelike feathers in shiny shades of gray to match his previous coloring. The imping process wasn't the most comfortable, and it didn't hide all the deformities, but it was making a difference. Bucky could stand looking in the mirror for longer than it took to check his work with the electric razor.

Then they were finished, at least with the preliminary work. Stark wanted to take more measurements once Bucky had started working out with his wings, but every broken feather capable of supporting the weight had a new end on it. Bucky might actually miss the time spent in the lab, getting out of his head while watching Stark work and listening to his music. It had been peaceful, and for once the stillness of his wings was helpful.

"Hey Barnes."

Bucky turned back, immediately on edge when of all things, Stark seemed unsure. Stark had never been anything besides cocksure and arrogant. He wondered if this was the other shoe dropping, when Stark demanded payment. There was absolutely nothing he could offer. Nothing he was and nothing he owned would be worth what Stark had given him.

"When this project wins the Salim Ali award, I'm not sharing," Stark said, fitting his smirk firmly back in place. He pretended to ignore the way his wing dipped to brush his flight feathers briefly against Bucky's.

It was the first time anyone besides Steve had tried to touch his wing, and it was the first time he didn't flinch violently away. It was a very simple touch, something strangers might do when they first met, but it sent sparks arching along his ribs. His wing twitched out, brushing back before he could consciously decide what to do.

"You just don't want me to take the spotlight to myself up there," he said hoarsely, trying to act like he wasn't struggling just to breathe. He remembered a little, what it was like to tease. "It's not my fault you made me too pretty."

"You wish," Tony snorted, pulling his wing into a resting position. He waved Bucky away. "Get out of here, Barnes. Go show your plumage to someone who cares."

Bucky's heart stopped, fell, shattered. Sam was coming back, he'd be back that night.

#

The wings were a big hit. Steve couldn't stop squawking over them, and grabbed Bucky by the elbows to dance him through the sunshine so the glare off the metal feathers would hit Clint in the eyes. It felt good. It felt like he didn't have to slink around the corners of the room with his back to the wall so no one would have to look at him.

It felt almost like normal.

He almost didn't notice when Sam came in. Or that's what he'd claim if he wasn't in so deep to know exactly where Sam was and what he was doing any time the were in the same room. The short hair on the back of his neck stood up at attention and every instinct he had wanted him to flare his wings high and wide. He turned at Sam's happy shout and ducked his head, sheepish under Sam's heavy look, wings lowered until the feathers dragged on the carpet. Sam looked so happy to see him, the slight gap in his teeth on full display.

"Hey now, look what the cat drug in," Sam said, his wings twitched in lazy flaps as he came closer to lean on the counter. "You got all blinged up, and now you want to hang out?"

"Someone has to class this place up," Bucky answered with a shrug, perking his wings up until he caught Sam watching them and then quickly crumpled them against his back. 

"Yeah, how bout you do something about your actual feathers then?" Clint said, sliding by on his way to the blender. He was still mad over losing that round of racing against Nat because Steve blinded him. "I'm not saying there's an odor, but some of us would appreciate if the febreze budget went back to normal."

Bucky's feathers and wings clamped down hard, and somehow even more embarrassment bubbled up his chest when he saw the resulting cloud of dust and down floating by on sunbeams. One step forward, two steps back. He'd have to find odd times so he could test out Stark's feathers without bothering anyone. He wanted to take care of himself, it just seemed overwhelming and he didn't know where to start and didn't want anyone to pity him. Stark Tower was big, but there was always people everywhere.

Sam struck out, knocking the meaty part of his upper wing into the back of Clint's head in a sharp rebuke. "Man, I know you're still stuck on step one of your twelve step don't-be-an-asshole program, but some of us would appreciate if you tried a little harder," Sam said, using the distraction to get to the blender first, and tip the last of the smoothie directly into his mouth while Clint rubbed his head.

With attention diverted, Bucky made a quick exit, pausing only to briefly catch Steve's eye and his sad, small smile.

#

The sandpit was occupied when Bucky arrived. The room was large, meant to hold three or four at once, but he'd hoped to start the grooming process without an audience to his sheer incompetence. Steve suggested this might be the easiest way to start, and Bucky couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it himself. The ceiling and walls were lined with screens synced to the outside of the building, giving the impression of sitting out under an open sky. One side was actual windows, currently pulled back to let some wind circulate. It was relaxing, warm, and safe.

Sam sat in the middle, his long wings spread out, one behind him and one in front. He was bare chested, but wearing ratty basketball shorts that showed off the elastic of his briefs. Bucky bit his lip, taking in the glow of Sam's skin in the gentle sunlight. He definitely wasn't ready for this kind of one-on-one interaction, not without embarrassing himself. He would have made a quick escape except that the AI ratted him out first.

"Hello, Sargent Barnes," the computer's friendly female voice said. "As this is your first trip here, I don't have any preferences on file. However, you will find a wide array of oils, cloth, and brushes in the cabinets to your left."

"Um, thank you," Bucky said, crossing his arms over his chest while he kicked his flip flops off by the door. He didn't look up, but there was no hiding at that point, "Hey, Sam."

"Hey yourself, Sargent," Sam teased, turning to watch Bucky approach. He kept his wings spread and vulnerable, seemingly unconcerned to have the Winter Soldier approaching from his back. "I was hoping you might come in today. I bought this new gloss I wanted to try out."

Without waiting, Sam tossed to bottle to Bucky and waved him further in. It was some fancy label out of France, but when he popped the top to sniff, it smelled divine. Sam wasn't too vain about his wings, but he made sure they always looked good. The white feathers and brown spots were distinctive, not many people had falcon wings. Steve had an ulterior motive to sending Bucky to the sandpit today. Bucky shook his head, but he really should have realized Steve wouldn't be able to keep from meddling forever.

"I got most of what I could reach, but do you mind helping to get the backside?" Sam asked, turning back around, probably so Bucky could cut and run without an audience if he needed to. Sam was thoughtful like that.

Closer, Bucky could see the shine where Sam had worked the gloss into his feathers, and the slightly more matte nature of the feathers he couldn't reach. "Looks like you got most of them," he said after he had to clear his throat to get the words out. "You sure you don't want to wait until Steve comes by? He usually follows about forty minutes behind me."

"Still got yourself a nanny, huh? He'll settled down soon," Sam asked pulling his wings back and up so that Bucky stood between them, bracketed. His shoulders didn't even tense. "You'll do fine. Can't really mess anything up, just use your fingers to rub it in."

"Suppose I could get a few feathers stuck in the metal plating," Bucky offered, though he kept the bottle in that hand and squirted a small portion into his right. This was everything he wanted, even if it was just a platonic rub down. The gloss was slick between his fingers, Sam's wing warm when he tentatively placed his hand. "I won't though. Wouldn't want to ruffle your good looks."

"I trust you," Sam said, his voice already low and drawling as he zoned out. "You haven't taken your eyes off them for weeks. I figure you'd take care of 'em too."

The sharp inhale was too loud, Bucky immediately held his breath until he remembered how silly that was too. Sam knew; he knew everything, and he apparently didn't mind. After another moment he resumed brushing the liquid onto Sam's wing, proud that his hand barely trembled. He happened to glance up and saw in the bare reflection of the window that somehow without his permission his wings had flared up and Sam was watching with hooded eyes.

"I didn't mean-" Bucky took a deep breath, for once calmly folding his wings against his back. "These things got a mind of their own these days."

"Uh-huh," Sam murmured, shifting his wing when Bucky got close to the base where the area was notoriously itchy. He sighed when Bucky dug his fingers in, his whole back arching toward Bucky while his other wing twisted and bumped into Bucky's leg. "You keep telling yourself that."

Sam's voice sank straight through Bucky's body, honey and sex that caused other sensations familiar but rusty to stir. He could feel goosebumps rise up on his arm and his feathers quivered, but it was too late to run now. He dug in a little deeper than necessary to simply spread the gloss, and let the feathers he'd been dreaming about slide between his fingers. He wasted as much time as he could, going over feathers already coated, but eventually he had to step back and pronounce the job finished.

"Mmmmm," Sam sighed, stretching his arms and wings in a lovely display. "Looks good, feels good."

Bucky wouldn't know, but it wasn't the worst advice he'd heard recently. He backed up, chewing on his lip and idly tugging on one of the metal feathers imped into the interior of his wing. "I'll just. . . be over there," he said, jerking his head to the far corner in the sand pit despite the fact Sam wasn't even looking at him. His feathers wouldn't be as healthy as Sam's for a while, but he could start the process, get some of the oiliness off and work up to an actual water bath. Maybe one day he could do this right, present and have someone . . . have _Sam_ take him seriously.

"Or you could stay here, let me give you a hand," Sam said, his voice moving as he stood.

He didn't want to look up, didn't want to see if the expression on Sam's face showed that he would really rather not have Bucky take him up on his offer. Sam was too nice for his own good sometimes, and the last thing Bucky wanted was to take advantage. The rustling of feathers was what it took to get him to lift his chin off his chest.

"Am I hallucinating here?" Bucky asked, his mouth hanging open while Sam's wings climbed impossibly higher. The white was brilliant in the sunshine with the gloss a happy sheen. His dark brown spots lined up perfectly down the multiple feathers drawing the eye in and down until Bucky was looking Sam right in the eyes.

"Naw, we're both right here in this reality," Sam said, arching his wings closer to box Bucky in. He had the best control of his wings out of anyone Bucky had ever met. The things he could do in the sky made him want to propose marriage on the spot. "I just got tired of waiting for you to make a move."

"You shouldn't, I mean I want to, but," Bucky babbled living in a new world made out of Sam and Sam's wings. He couldn't believe he was trying to talk Sam out of this, but he could feel his own wings cramping, and the ache of cutting his circulation off. He didn't want to disappoint anyone, he'd rather cut his wings off than see Sam give up on him. "My wings aren't ready yet. I can't-"

Sam reached out slowly and fit his hands around Bucky's wrists, tugging them closer together as his wings folded down. "You seemed to be doing all right earlier," he said.

"Sure but I wasn't thinking then."

"Then don't think now," Sam said, letting his hands glide up Bucky's arms and over his shoulders, barely missing Bucky's wings.

Taking a deep breath, Bucky leaned forward to rest his chin on Sam's shoulder. He'd tried before, but somehow with Sam surrounding him, it was easier to let go of his tension, of his expectations, of his insistence that his wings be perfect before he tried to make a life for himself again. This was the time he'd been given, and he should start using it.

"That's it, open your eyes."

Bucky did as he was told, realizing he'd lifted his wings in presentation, pointed them right to the heavens and Sam had answered, folding his wings beside. His silver feathers reflected the sunlight again, but not in some lame prank, they lit up the room and still paled in comparison with Sam's smile.

"Well it's about dang time," Sam said, hugging Bucky close. "Now let's get to work. You're gonna feel a lot better when your wings aren't itching you all the time."

Bucky laughed.


End file.
